


You Will Be Found

by themetaphorgirl



Series: Canon and Canon Divergences [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alex is a queen, Drama, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, JJ is a good big sister, Jason Gideon's A+ Parenting, Sickfic, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer Reid Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetaphorgirl/pseuds/themetaphorgirl
Summary: A series of canon and canon divergence drabbles from Tumblr.#1: Spencer and JJ friendship#2: the BAU goes to Disney#3: "want me to rub your back til you fall asleep?"#4: "let's clean you up and get you to bed"#5: "you have to stay awake"#6: "you've been crying. I can tell."#7: "you should lie down"#8: fever#9: drunk Spencer#10: he was fifteen#11: stay safe#12: mother#13: post rescue
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Haley Hotchner, Alex Blake & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & David Rossi
Series: Canon and Canon Divergences [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935475
Comments: 72
Kudos: 302





	1. Spencer and JJ friendship

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by michaelakuntzmann
> 
> set around season 9

“JJ, I’m fine, I swear I’m fine.” **  
**

“Hold still,” she frowned. She knelt down on the concrete curb, trying to get a better look at his injury in the dim early-evening light. “Hold still!” She pushed his hair back from his forehead and dabbed at the cut over his right eye.

Spencer scrunched up his face. “Really, I’m fine,” he said. He leaned away from her, stretching his long legs out on the sidewalk. “I’ve been hurt worse. You’ve seen it, this is nothing, you should really-”

She swatted his knee. “Reid, I swear to god, if you don’t hold still I will personally load you into an ambulance and tell them you need stitches,” she said. “Do you want stitches?”

“Um…no,” he said, clasping his hands and leaning forward, submitting to her firm touch. “Ow….ow, that’s… _ouch_ , JJ.”

“Oh, hush,” she said. She frowned in concentration as she eyed the cut carefully. “Henry is five and he wiggles less than you.”

“Well, usually children are calmer in the presence of a parent that they’re close to in cases of illness or injury, so Henry is more likely to hold still for you than I am,” Spencer said. “Henry is also about a third of my height, so he’s easier to subdue.”

JJ peeled the backing off a butterfly bandage. “Hold off on your fun facts for a second,” she said. “Stay very still. Or else.”

He didn’t want to find out what or else might entail, so he obeyed. JJ placed one butterfly bandage over the edge of the cut, then a second. “There,” she said. “That should be better.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the ER and get checked out? You fell really hard.”

“I’ll be fine,” he promised. 

JJ frowned and lifted his chin, scrutinizing her handiwork on his forehead. “Maybe you do need stitches,” she mused.

“It’ll heal,” Spencer said, squinting at her.

She sighed. “Let’s make a deal,” she said. “You come over for dinner tomorrow and I’ll check this cut out again, and if it looks better I promise I won’t say another word about stitches.” She grinned. “Plus, Henry got a new lego set and he’s been dying to show his Uncle Spence what he built. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said emphatically.


	2. the BAU goes to Disney World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a post by criminalmindsgonewrong
> 
> [At Disneyland on a teacup ride]
> 
> Hotch, JJ, Rossi, Reid: *spinning calmly and slowly in their teacup, enjoying the ride*
> 
> Emily, Morgan, Penelope: *flying past, spinning as fast as they can, screaming*

**“L** isten, when I thought we were getting assigned to a case in Orlando, I thought it would be more ‘Florida man’ and less ‘this has somehow turned into a family vacation’,” Rossi said, crossing his arms as they watched tourists zigzag back and forth across Fantasyland. ****

Hotch shrugged helplessly. “I promised Jack that if we could get the case resolved within two days, I’d fly him down here and I’d take him to Disney World,” he said. “And then Henry found out…and then Garcia found out…”

“Listen,” Garcia interrupted. She wore a pair of Minnie ears bedecked with pink flowers that matched both her glasses and her lipstick. “The real crime here is that there are three children in our group that have never been to Disney World, and this needed to be fixed.”

Morgan frowned. “Three children?” he said. “We got Jack, we got Henry…who’s the third one?”

Garcia pointed across the way. “That one,” she said. “The tall one. The one with a churro in each hand.”

“Oh, lord, someone’s gotta keep Reid away from the sugar,” Emily said. “At least it’s too hot for coffee, or then we’d really be in trouble.”

“Ah, not so fast, princess. Didn’t you see the Starbucks on Main Street?” Garcia said.

“We’re doomed,” Hotch said.

“Wait, that was a Starbucks? We might need to go back.”

JJ walked back over to them, Henry pulling at her hand in an attempt to drag her faster. “All right, I think I figured out the fastpasses,” she said. 

Spencer waved his blue magic band, nearly poking Emily in the face with a churro in his enthusiasm. “Have you guys seen these things? There are so many ways RFID technology can be used, and here we are, in a theme park. Althought I don’t think fastpasses are really that great of an idea, in theory the lines would move faster if-”

“It’s a thousand degrees and we’re surrounded by sticky children, let’s save the theories for the flight home,” Rossi said. 

Hotch unfolded a map. “So I think we should probably-”

Garcia reached over and snatched it out of his hands. “You don’t need a map!” she said. “I will be the map! Trust me. Where are we going first?”

“Space Mountain!” Jack shouted.

“It’s a Small World!” Henry shrieked.

“Ooh, no and no,” JJ said.

Spencer frowned. “Actually, I kind of want to go on Space Mountain,” he said.

“We’ll do that later when we have a fastpass,” JJ said. “We have about…forty minutes till our time starts.”

“Can’t we just go early?” Morgan asked. 

Garcia smacked him over the head with the confiscated map. “That’s not how it works! There are rules!” she said. “Come on, follow me, I have a plan.”

Emily slid on her sunglasses as Garcia led them through Fantasyland past the carousel and the Seven Dwarves Mine Train. “This is so different from Disneyland Paris,” she remarked. “I used to go there all the time when I was a kid when my mom was working in the UK.”

“Where’s the Indiana Jones ride?” Morgan asked. “I heard they had one of those.”

“Not in Florida,” Garcia said. “Sorry, chocolate thunder. But we can always ride this while we’re waiting.” She gestured broadly. “Tada!”

Rossi frowned. “The teacups?”

“Isn’t it great?” Garcia said. “It’s a classic. And my aesthetic.”

“It…it spins,” Hotch said blankly. “Is this a good idea? The kids pretty much had straight up sugar for breakfast.”

Emily shrugged. “So did Spencer and I,” she said.

“I’m including you two with the kids.”

Garcia herded her unruly group into the queue. “All right, all right, I’m putting you into groups,” she said. “Prentiss, Morgan. You’re with me. Hotch, you take the boys. Rossi, JJ, Reid, you three are together. Let me do all the talking, when they ask how many people we have I don’t think any of you could answer.”

“It’s too early for a spinning ride,” Rossi mumbled under his breath.

“Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, they can spin faster,” Garcia said. “There’s a, a spinny steering wheel thing in the middle.”

“So it’s a contest,” Emily said. She elbowed Morgan in the ribs. “You hear that?”

“Oh, it’s on,” Morgan grinned.

“I don’t think it’s going to be much of a contest,” Hotch said.

Jack pulled on his arm. “I wanna go fast, Dad!” he said. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose.

Spencer pushed his hair out of his eyes. “You know, Alice in Wonderland was a huge disappointment when it came out in 1951,” he said. His hair, curling in the humidity, drooped back over his face. “It wasn’t until it was available for rent and projector viewing in the 1970s that it actually started to become popular.”

“Okay, Spence, you are not going to survive in this heat with your hair like that,” JJ said.

“I got it, I got it, don’t worry,” Garcia said. She pulled a hair tie off her wrist. “Come here…but like, can you shrink a little bit? You’re too tall.” Spencer obediently bent his knees and she pulled his long hair up and out of his face. “There. Better?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he said.

The teacups slammed to a halt and a cast member opened the purple gates with a pleasant smile. “Pink one!” Garcia screamed. “Morgan, get a pink one!”

Jack and Henry bolted for a yellow one, piling in before Hotch was even out of the gate. Rossi raised an eyebrow at JJ and Spencer. “Any color preference?” he inquired.

“Not in the slightest,” JJ said.

“In that case, I’m taking that purple one,” Spencer said.

The safety spiel played overhead and the cups lurched into motion. “Oh god! Okay! Clockwise!” Emily said. “I said clockwise, Morgan!”

“Which way is that?”

The pink cup hurtled past the yellow cup. “Faster, Uncle Hotch, faster!” Henry shrieked.

“Yeah, make it go faster, Dad!” Jack said. Hotch turned the silver wheel with one hand, exasperation written all over his face.

The purple cup, meanwhile, made lazy circles around the track. JJ hid a yawn behind her hand. “You know, this isn’t as bad as I thought,” Rossi commented.

Spencer twisted around in his seat, craning his neck in an attempt to look at everything at once. “This is fascinating,” he said. 

“Spence, sit down, you’re going to fall out,” JJ said.

The pink teacup zipped past them again. “We’re winning!” Emily shouted.

The ride came to a hard stop; they spilled out of their teacups and they stumbled towards the exit. “Let’s go again!” Jack said.

“Yeah, let’s go again!” Henry echoed.

Hotch pressed his hand to his forehead. “Absolutely not,” he groaned.

“I don’t know, it wasn’t so bad after all,” Rossi shrugged as he put his sunglasses back on.

“That sounds like somebody wants a rematch,” Emily said.

“Yeah, we totally beat you,” Morgan said. “Once we figured out how to the thing turned.”

Spencer frowned. “Wait, were we racing?” he said. 

“We might have time to ride again later, my lovelies, but right now we had a rocket to ride,” Garcia said. She pointed dramatically past the teacups and the Tomorrowland Speedway. “To Space Mountain!”

“Oh god,” Hotch mumbled.


	3. "want me to rub your back till you fall asleep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anonymous: "could you do Reid and Morgan fic based on the 'want me to rub your back until you fall asleep?' starter?"

Spencer buried his face in his arms. Usually flights were quiet and calm, but tonight it seemed like he could hear every whispered conversation, every noise from the engine, every creak and pop of the jet, and he couldn’t tune anything out. Everything was too loud, too much.

And he still couldn’t shake the case from his mind. They caught the unsub, sure, but any case involving children was especially hard. Every time he closed his eyes he could see them on the silver morgue tables.

“Hey, kid. You okay?”

He cracked an eye open and glared up at Morgan. “I was asleep,” he complained.

“No, you weren’t,” Morgan said.

Spencer sighed and pushed himself up. “Fine, you caught me,” he sighed. He raked his fingers through his tangled hair “We’re almost home though, right?”

“Man, you must be out of it,” Morgan said. “We’ve got two hours left.” He tilted his head. “Scoot over.”

Spencer scrunched his face. “What?”

“You heard me. Scoot over, pretty boy.”

Too startled to argue, Spencer obeyed. Morgan sat down beside him and set his coffee cup down on the table. “You can’t stop thinking about the case, huh?” he said.

Spencer rubbed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. 

“Me neither,” Morgan said. He glanced over at Spencer. “But I got some sleep this past week. Judging by the past week stuck in a hotel room with you…you didn’t get any.”

Spencer pressed the heel of his palm against his right eye. “No, but that’s pretty par for the course for me, I think,” he said.

Morgan laughed, not unkindly. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But you should at least try to sleep a little bit. Put your head back done.”

“I’m not going to fall asleep, Morgan,” Spencer said, but he rested his forehead against his folded arms.

Morgan rested his broad hand lightly between his shoulderblades. “Relax, pretty boy,” he said. “Deep breaths. Turn off that big brain of yours and stop thinking for a little bit.”

Spencer exhaled slowly. Ordinarily when he was in sensory overload he really didn’t want anybody near him, but Morgan’s touch was grounding him.

“Want me to rub your back until you fall asleep?” Morgan asked quietly.

Spencer nodded. Morgan ran his hand up and down his spine in firm, even strokes, the rhythm soothing and his palm warm. Despite himself Spencer finally began to doze off, lulled by the reassurance that Morgan was standing guard.


	4. "let's clean you up and get you to bed"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anonymous: "Let's clean you up and get you to bed: Criminal Minds with this prompt?"

It all happened so fast. Alex paused to catch her breath, letting Morgan and Hotch step in to the cuff the unsub. The night air was hot and sticky and her hand ached from the strain of clutching her firearm. She holstered it with a sigh. ****

“At least that’s taken care of,” JJ said, pushing her hair back from her face with her forearm. “God, it’s so hard to run when it’s this humid.”

“Yeah, I’ll be happy to leave Mississippi,” Alex said. “Or at least get into air conditioning.”

JJ laughed. “Yeah, or get back to the hotel and take a shower,” she said. She nudged Spencer lightly. “Hey, Spence, you okay? You fell pretty hard back there.”

Spencer shrugged. “I’ve been hurt worse,” he said. 

“Well, you’re not wrong,” JJ said, squeezing his arm lightly. “I’m going to see if Morgan and Hotch need a hand.”

Alex rubbed her temples lightly as JJ crossed the parking lot; the circling red and blue police lights burned her vision. “Is the local sheriff on scene?” she asked. Spencer didn’t respond and she frowned. “Reid?”

She couldn’t see his features clearly in the dark, but she could see his shoulders hunching. “Hm?” he said. “Did you say something?”

“Do you know if the local sheriff is on scene?”

He sighed. “I don’t…I don’t know,” he said, “I…I might need to sit down, if nobody needs me right now.”

Warning bells went off in Alex’s brain. She had seen Spencer press on through headaches and colds and insomnia- asking to take a break wasn’t like him at all. But she knew he didn’t like to be fussed over publicly, so she tugged him aside from the hustle going on in the parking lot. “How hard did you fall?” she asked quietly, keeping her hand on his upper arm. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t fall that hard,” he said. “I’m just…I don’t feel that great right now.”

She touched his forehead gently with the back of her hand. “You’re burning up,” she said. “Do you need to go to urgent care or something? I’ll take you.”

“No, no, it’s not that bad,” Spencer said, raking his hair back from his face. “I just need to sit down for a little bit.”

Alex hesitated, but as luck would have it, Hotch passed by them, frowning at his phone. “Hey, Hotch?” she said. “Is the local department securing the scene?”

Hotch stopped. “Yeah, they’re taking it from here,” he said. “Morgan and JJ have the unsub. Why do you ask?”

“I’m going to take Reid back to the hotel,” she said, keeping her tone even enough to keep Spencer from arguing.

“That’s fine,” Hotch said. “We can wrap things up here.”

He walked away, and Alex placed her hand lightly on Spencer’s back to nudge him towards the nearest SUV. “I don’t need to leave, Blake, I just need to sit down for a little bit,” he protested.

“You have a fever,” she said. “You need to call it a night, Reid.”

Spencer unbuckled his vest and got into the front passenger seat, dropping it at his feet. The warning bells rang louder; he had to be in bad shape if he wasn’t going to put up a real fight. 

Her phone buzzed as she clicked her seatbelt. Hotch had texted her: keep an eye on him & keep me updated. She felt a little validated for her abundance of caution if Hotch was worried too.

Traffic wasn’t terrible that late at night and she drove as smoothly as she could. Spencer didn’t talk, leaning back as far as his seat would tilt, and she didn’t turn on the radio. Streetlights blinked overhead as she navigated the unfamiliar roads.

She parked as close to the entrance to the hotel as she could, and Spencer climbed out of the SUV without a word. Alex walked beside him, unconsciously letting out a deep sigh of relief as she stepped into the heavily air conditioned lobby. Spencer stumbled.

“Hey, easy, kid,” she said, pressing her hand against his back. “Take your time.”

He shivered, but he started moving again. Alex eyed him carefully. She could see how pale he was now, except for the red fever-flush high on his cheekbones. No wonder he didn’t put up more of a fight earlier.

He fumbled for the key card in his wallet. “Do you need anything?” Alex asked. He didn’t answer as he swung the door open. “I can get you some ibuprofen and some water at least.” 

She flipped on the lights and caught her breath. “Holy shit, Spencer,” she said. “When did that happen?”

He blinked. “What?”

She placed one hand on his shoulder and one on his wrist, then turned his arm gently. His shirt sleeve was drenched scarlet with blood. “Did this happen when you fell?”

He looked down at the blood. “Oh,” he said softly. “I didn’t…I didn’t notice.”

His knees buckled and she guided him into the bathroom, forcing him to sit down. “Okay, kiddo, hold on,” she said. “Let me take a look.”

Spencer didn’t fight her as she unbuttoned his shirt and pried the sleeve away from his arm. She wasn’t fazed by the sight of the blood, she’d seen worse in her time, but the amount was alarming. “Is it bad?” he asked.

Alex rinsed a washcloth in the sink. “Let me see what’s causing it first,” she said. She wiped away enough to find the source- a deep cut running six inches from his shoulder towards his elbow. “Well, you don’t need stitches.”

“That’s good,” he mumbled. “I hate getting stitches.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said. “Let’s clean you up and get you to bed, okay?” He nodded. “Stay right here. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

The blood washed away easily; she had to stop and rinse the washcloth several times before his skin was clean again. “What do you think happened?” she asked as she uncapped the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“Not sure,” he said. “I’ve been, um…I’ve been feeling bad all day.” He hissed through his teeth as she touched the peroxide to the cut. “I don’t think I was focusing when the unsub knocked me over.”

“Migraine?” she asked quietly. He gave a short nod. “Mm. That makes sense.” She took out a roll of gauze and wrapped it around his arm. “You’ve taken your emergency meds?”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

She tied off the bandage and tucked the ends. “You’ve stayed hydrated?”

He nodded, a lock of hair falling over his eyes. “I’ve done everything I can, I promise,” he said.

“Except rest,” she said. She stroked his hair away from his face, feeling the feverish heat of his skin. “I’ll talk to Hotch. We can make do wrapping things up without you. We’ll probably be on the jet by noon, anyway.”

“Just don’t-” Spencer paused. “Can you…not tell Hotch what’s happening?”

“Only if you promise that you’ll see a doctor when we get back,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“I will, I promise,” Spencer said.

Alex smiled. “Deal,” she said. “You get changed, I’ll text him and I’ll be right back.”

She stepped out and typed out a quick message to Hotch. He replied almost instantly- we won’t need him tomorrow morning. let him sleep in tomorrow. That was a relief, both that Hotch was on the same page, and also that he didn’t push for information.

Spencer limped slowly out of the bathroom. With his ruffled hair and his pajamas, he looked so much younger, and her heart gave a little pang. “You ready to sleep?” she asked.

“Yeah…I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” he said. He sank down on his bed, gingerly favoring his injured arm. “Thanks for bringing me back.”

“No problem,” she said. He eased down carefully and she tucked a pillow under his arm. She’d spent nine years of her life picking up on unspoken signs of pain, she could read Spencer like a book. “Hold on just a second.”

She got a clean washcloth from the bathroom and ran it under the cool tap until it was damp. “This might help,” she said, and she draped it over his hot forehead, smoothing his hair out of the way.

Spencer was already dozing. “That feels better,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

Alex smoothed out the covers. “You’re welcome,” she said, and she sat by him in comfortable silence until she was sure he was asleep.


	5. "you have to stay awake"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anonymous: "I'd love a 'you have to stay awake' prompt for Criminal Minds."

“Reid, you still with me?” 

No answer.

“Reid,” Rossi tried again, raising his voice as loud as he dared. “Reid, open your eyes.”

Still no answer.

“Reid!” Rossi called, and mercifully Reid started to rouse, his chest heaving. “Hey, hey, that’s better. Don’t move so fast.”

Reid slumped against the alley wall, his long legs stretched out and his arms hanging limp at his sides. “What happened?” he mumbled.

“Unsub got in a good swing at you,” Rossi said. “You went down pretty hard.”

Hard was putting it down mildly. The unsub was unhinged, devolving fast, and he’d caught them off guard, striking Reid on the temple with the butt of his gun. One second he was fine, the next he was on the ground.

Reid scrunched up his face; another fat drop of blood rolled down his cheek and splattered on the shoulder of his flak vest. “That explains…why my head hurts,” he said. “Where’s…where’s everybody else?”

He started to push himself off the ground, but Rossi caught him by the shoulder and pressed him back down. “Not so fast,” he said. “The rest of the team is taking care of the unsub. We’re waiting on a bus.”

“I don’t need one,” Reid said, blinking unsteadily. “I don’t need one, I’m okay. I can get up-”

“Think about this logically,” Rossi said. “You were knocked out for a few minutes and you’re bleeding. Would you let anyone else on the team get up and go running after the bad guys if the roles were reversed?”

Reid’s lower lip dropped. “Fine,” he said. He paused. “I’m bleeding?”

“Yeah, pretty bad,” Rossi said. “It’s too dark to tell, but you probably have some stitches in your future. Definitely a concussion.”

Reid sighed heavily, his chin dropping to his chest. “I don’t have a concussion,” he mumbled. “I think I’m just tired, Rossi. That’s…that’s all.”

Blood ran down the side of Reid’s neck and soaked the collar of his shirt. Rossi tilted his chin. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, kid, you can’t go to sleep. You hear me?”

“Mm-hm,” Reid said hazily. He sagged against the filthy wall of the alley, his shoulders rounding forward. 

Rossi had been trying to stay calm, was typically pretty good at staying calm, but his heart squeezed in his chest. “You have to stay awake,” he said. “Spencer, you hear me? You have to stay awake.”

“I’m awake.”

Rossi took his hand and squeezed it tight with both of his. His fingers were ice cold. “You have to stay awake,” he urged. “Come on, squeeze my hand.”

Reid didn’t answer. His head dropped forward and his hand went limp; Rossi took him the shoulders and held him up. “Spencer, come on,” he said. “Stay awake, _caro_ , just a little bit longer.”

But Reid was quiet and still, and Rossi let him rest against his shoulder like a tired child. He could feel Reid’s soft faint breaths against his cheek, the rapidly cooling warmth of his blood dripping onto his shirt, and all he could do was hold him up and wait.


	6. "you've been crying. I can tell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anonymous: "'You've been crying, I can tell" with Reid & the team?"
> 
> tag to 4x07 Memoriam

“Hey, sunshine. I come bearing gifts.” ****

Spencer glanced up from his computer screen, neon blue dots dancing in his vision. “Hm?” he said blearily.

Garcia beamed at him, a coffee cup in each hand. “I’m staying late to do a systems update, and then I saw you were staying late, so I figured we could both use a little pick-me-up,” she said, and she set a cup down by his elbow.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “What time is it?” he asked, biting back a yawn. He looked around the empty bullpen. “Did…did everybody leave?”

“Yeah, angel, it’s almost nine,” Garcia said. “What’s got you so distracted?”

He let out a slow exhale. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just…reading old files, and time got away from me, I suppose.”

“Drink your coffee,” Garcia said. He picked it up and took a sip; she pulled Morgan’s chair from his desk and sat down beside him. “What’s this really about, hm? What’s got that big genius brain of yours all tangled up?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and he offered her what he hoped was a winning smile.

“Oh, you’re not fine,” she said. “You haven’t been fine since you and Morgan and Rossi got back from Vegas. You figured out what happened to Riley Jenkins. That’s a pretty big deal.”

He raised and lowered one shoulder. “Yeah,” he said.

Garcia tilted her head. He looked away, staring fixedly at the lid of his cup. “You’ve been crying,” she said quietly. “I can tell.”

His eyes burned. “Crying is normal,” he said. “Basal tears are-”

“Mm, no, nope, no facts or statistics right now,” she said. She brushed a stray tear from his cheek. He hadn’t realized it escaped. “What’s got you so upset, babe?”

He bit his lip, still staring at the coffee cup. She rested her hand lightly on his forearm. “He was nine miles away,” he said quietly. “The whole time.”

“Your dad?”

Spencer nodded. “He walked out when I was ten, and he…all he left was a letter,” he said. “I spent the rest of my childhood wondering where he was. Where he moved away, what he was doing, if…if he had a new family. Had a different son.”

Garcia squeezed his arm and he looked up at her. Another tear rolled down his cheek. “He was nine miles away the whole time,” he said. “He…he cared enough about me to collect newspaper articles about my career, but not enough to tell me that he could have driven ten minutes to come see me.” He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “He could have still been my dad. He just…chose not to.”

Garcia smoothed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. “What a schmuck,” she said solemnly, and it startled him into a stifled half-laugh. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s a word for it,” he said.

“Listen, it’s okay to cry, especially about this,” she said. “But don’t feel like you can’t talk to anybody, okay? You’ve had everybody worried since you got back from Vegas.”

He screwed up his face. “Everybody?”

“Oh, yeah, sugar. Everybody,” she said. “With all those big brains of yours, I think sometimes you forget that you’re surrounded by profilers. Profilers who care about you. You can’t hide anything around here.” She rubbed her thumb along his arm. “How about you call it a night on the file reading, and I’ll order Chinese food, and you can talk this out with me and work it out of your system?”

He smiled. “I’d like that,” he said.


	7. "you should lie down"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anonymous: "In the CM fandom all of us want Reid to be safe, but all our fics are like 'HURT HIM.' And I love it. Could I suggest 'you should lay down'?"

He was so tired of everyone asking if he was okay. He was fine. He was absolutely fine.

“I don’t think you’re fine,” JJ said. 

He hadn’t realized he’d said that last part out loud. “No, no…I’m okay,” he said. “Really.” 

She turned away from the bulletin board covered in their notes and photos and frowned at him. “That was a really bad fall, Spence,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I heard a crack.”

He shifted his weight. “Any word back from Morgan and Prentiss?” he asked, desperate to change the subject. 

“Nothing yet, but we can leave for the airport as soon as they get back,” Hotch said absently. He frowned at his phone. “God, Garcia needs to teach Morgan how to text. None of this is legible.”

JJ peered over his shoulder. “Um…I don’t think that’s the emoji that he meant to use,” she said.

Hotch held the phone at arm’s length. “Why? What does the eggplant mean?” he asked. JJ paused, then whispered in his ear. “Oh, Jesus.”

“What does the eggplant mean?” Spencer asked. “You know, in some ways emojis can be seen like modern hieroglyphics, but some of them seem to have connotations with modern pop culture that I just don’t understand.”

JJ hesitated, but luckily Rossi walked into the conference room with a carrier tray of coffees. “I figured we could use these,” he said. “Don’t worry, Hotch, yours is decaf. Reid, yours has an extra shot.”

“Thanks,” he said, but as he reached out with his right hand a sudden sharp pain shot straight up to his elbow. He winced, lowered his arm to brace against his stomach, and took the coffee in his left hand instead.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “What was that about, kiddo?” he asked.

“What was what?” he stammered.

“No, no, I saw that,” JJ said. “What’s going on, Spence?”

“Nothing,” he said, and he took a sip of his coffee, averting his gaze.

“Hey, Reid,” Rossi said. “Can you do this?”

He formed his hand into a fist and rotated it slowly. Spencer set his coffee down on the conference table and copied the motion. “See? Fine.”

“Not your left hand,” Rossi said, nodding towards him. “Other one.”

Spencer gulped hard. Gingerly he curled his fingers into his palm and slowly turned his wrist.

This time the pain shot straight through his arm and straight up to his shoulder. He doubled over and groaned through his teeth. 

“Oh, shit!” JJ exclaimed.

Rossi got to him first, catching him by his good arm. “Well, that wasn’t good,” he said. “What’re you hiding from us this time, kiddo?”

He couldn’t formulate words, his vision had gone dark and fuzzy around the edges. There was a very good chance he might fall over.

“You should lie down,” JJ said, sliding her arm around his waist. He could only nod as Rossi and JJ dragged him over to the small couch against the wall, cradling his bad arm protectively against his chest. Lying down didn’t do much to alleviate the dizziness whipping around his head or the nausea threatening in his stomach, but at least if he passed out, he was already lying down.

Rossi took him gently by the elbow, supporting his hand, and JJ unbuttoned his shirt cuff. He let out a low whistle. “Well, that explains it,” he said.

Spencer half raised his head. “Explains what?” he mumbled.

His wrist was swollen to twice its normal size and brilliant red, already beginning to shift to purple. Rossi probed it gently and Spencer yelped. “Yep, it’s broken,” Rossi said.

“It can’t be broken,” he said, bewildered.

“Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” JJ said. “I told you I heard a crack.”

He closed his eyes. This was not at all what he was hoping for.

Hotch walked back into the conference room. “I’ve called ahead to the closest emergency room, and I called the airport so they know to hold the jet,” he said. “Let’s get you to a hospital, Reid.” He opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t argue. It’s broken. You need to get that taken care of.”

And so, despite his best efforts, it was hours later before they got to the jet, and he found himself with a brand new purple cast on his right arm and the highest dose of ibuprofen the hospital could give him coursing through his body. His long-sleeve button down shirt was out of the question now that he had his cast and a sling, and he had been forced to wear one of Morgan’s V-neck tee shirts. 

“All right, everybody out of the way, Reid gets the bench seat,” Morgan announced, even though no one was in the way.

He sank down a little unsteadily, unable to catch himself with his right hand. “Morgan, it’s just a broken wrist,” he protested.

“You broke it in two places,” Rossi said. “Lie down, kid.”

He scrunched up his face. “I can sit up, I have a book-”

“Lie down. Take a nap. You need one,” Hotch said, moving past him down the aisle to take his seat.

Spencer sighed, but he eased himself down. JJ leaned over to support his shoulder, keeping him from putting pressure on his sore arm. She tucked a pillow under his head as he shifted around, trying to get comfortable. 

“You really should get some rest,” Emily commented from the seat across from him. “You look beat. And I’m pretty sure you’re the one who told me that the human body does the most healing during REM cycles.”

“The one time you pay attention to my facts,” he mumbled. Emily laughed.

“Stop fussing and take a nap,” JJ said.

“Listen to JJ,” Hotch called from the far end of the jet.

“I’m not tired,” Spencer said. “Can somebody get me my book?”

“JJ, do the thing, make him go to sleep,” Morgan said. 

Spencer frowned. “What thing?”

JJ laughed, but she didn’t answer. Instead she sat down next to him and started running her fingers through his long tangled hair, scratching her fingernails lightly against his scalp.

“JJ?” he asked.

“What?”

“Did…did you get my coffee from the office?”

“Oh, no, sweetheart. That was six hours ago.”

His cast made his arm feel so heavy. “I wanted that coffee,” he complained.

“I know. We’ll get you more coffee later,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

She kept stroking his hair, gentle and rhythmic. “That’s not gonna make me fall asleep,” he yawned.

“Yes, it will, it works every time,” Emily said.

“Nah-uh,” he mumbled, but she was right, and he was asleep before the jet made it down the runaway and into the air.


	8. fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anonymous

“All right, thanks for your help, mama,” Morgan said. “Can you send that to Hotch too?”

Garcia beamed, slightly pixelated in the webcam screen. “Absolutely, my sweet,” she said. “Also. What’s wrong with Reid?”

Morgan frowned. “Nothing, I don’t think,” he said. He turned towards Spencer, sitting next to him. “Reid, tell her-”

Spencer blinked rapidly. “Hm?” he rasped. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second.”

“Good morning, nugget. Welcome back to the conversation. What’s going on with you?” Garcia asked. “I’m three hundred miles away and I can tell something’s not right.”

Spencer screwed up his face. “Uh…nothing,” he said. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Yeah, you never sleep well,” Morgan said.

“You sound like you’ve been eating gravel,” Garcia said. “Are you getting sick?”

Spencer touched the front of his throat thoughtfully. “Oh, maybe,” he said. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I would touch your forehead if I was there,” Garcia said. “Derek Morgan, touch his forehead for me.”

“Why am I touching him?” Morgan asked.

“Check if he has a fever.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Morgan said. “C’mere, kid.” Spencer leaned forward obediently and Morgan gingerly touched his forehead. “He’s kind of warm, I think? I don’t know, I don’t put my hands on people’s foreheads a lot.”

“Okay, well, keep an eye on him,” Garcia said. “Ask JJ. Or Alex. They’ll know better. They’re still at the site?”

“Yeah, but they’ll be back soon,” Morgan said. “I think.”

“All right, just…don’t let Reid out of your sight, okay?” Garcia said. “You know how he gets when he’s not properly supervised.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it,” Morgan reassured her. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“All right, I’m counting on you,” Garcia warned. “Talk to you soon. Bye!”

Morgan closed the webcam window and looked over at Spencer. He did seem a little tired and a little flushed, but then again, he was probably just tired. “You are feeling okay, right?” he said.

Spencer tugged his cardigan tighter around himself. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. He coughed lightly. “I’m gonna work on the map for the geographic profile.”

“Have fun,” Morgan said as Spencer staggered to his feet. “I’ll come check on you in a little bit. Let me know if you’re feeling bad.”

“Yeah, sure,” Spencer said dreamily as he wandered out of the conference room. Morgan turned his attention back to pinning notes and photos to the board.

And unfortunately, he forgot.

———-

JJ frowned at her phone. “I just got the weirdest text from Garcia,” she said. “She said we need to go check on Spencer.”

“Why?” Alex said, pushing the door to the precinct open. “I mean, I know he’s talented at getting himself into situations, but we left him here with Morgan and a map. He couldn’t have gotten into that much trouble.”

“You underestimate him,” JJ said. She peeked into the conference room. “Hey, Morgan. How’s everything?”

Morgan glanced back from the board. “Eh, could be worse,” he said. “How was it out there?”

“Informative. Where’s Reid?” Alex asked.

Morgan’s eyes went wide. “Fuck,” he said. “I was supposed to check on him.”

“Why?” JJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, Garcia is convinced he’s coming down with something,” Morgan shrugged. “He said he was fine.”

“Morgan, Reid would say he was fine if he had a knife sticking out of his ribs,” JJ said dryly. “Where is he?”

“Uh…working on the map,” Morgan said, sliding past the table. “There’s another office down the hall…”

Luckily, they found Spencer in the office. Unluckily, they found him scribbling lines across a piece of paper, mumbling under his breath, the map long forgotten. “Spencer?” JJ ventured. He didn’t look up, his long untidy hair hanging in his eyes. “Earth to Spencer.”

He raised his head sleepily, there was a smear of green marker on his cheek. “Hm?”

Alex shot Morgan a stern look. He at least had the grace to look ashamed. “Yeah, I should have checked on him earlier,” he admitted.

“Spence, how are you feeling?” JJ asked.

He shrugged. “My throat hurts. It might be seasonal allergies, it’s probably the unfamiliar pollen in the area,” he said.

“You sound like you swallowed sandpaper,” Alex said. “Do you have a fever?”

“I checked earlier, I don’t think he does,” Morgan said. He hesitated. “I think.”

“Yeah, but did you do the mom test?” JJ asked.

“The mom test?”

“The forehead kiss, it never steers a mom wrong,” she explained.

Alex brushed Spencer’s hair back and kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, you definitely have a fever,” she said.

JJ pried the marker out of Spencer’s hand and capped it. “You’re done for the day, Spence.”

He wrinkled his nose as she put the marker away. “Why do I have to be done?” he asked hoarsely. “I can keep working.”

Morgan hoisted him out of his chair by the elbows. “No, they’re right, pretty boy,” he said. “Come on, there’s a couch in the conference room, you can take a nap there.”

It didn’t take much effort to shuffle him back to the conference room and get him settled on the narrow couch. He curled up immediately, tucking his long legs up in order to fit, and was asleep in seconds. “Oh, shit…he must be sick if he fell asleep that fast,” he said.

Alex rubbed lightly at the green marker stain on his cheek. “It might be allergies, but we’ll keep an eye on him,” she said. “Hopefully it’s not more serious.”

“Yeah, I’ll get Garcia to find the closest urgent care, just in case,” JJ said. “Hopefully we won’t need to take him.”

They let Spencer sleep for most of the afternoon, migrating their work to the smaller office and letting him rest in peace and quiet. But he was checked on regularly, everyone taking turns to look in and make sure he was sleeping soundly.

JJ peeked in on him in the early evening, hoping he was still asleep, but he was sitting up, his eyes open. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, leaning in the doorway. “How’re you doing?”

He sighed, tugging petulantly at the neckline of his cardigan, and said something under his breath.

“What did you say?” she asked, straightening up.

He sighed heavily and the air caught and rattled in his throat. “I didn’t see it,” he mumbled.

“What?”

Spencer shook his head unsteadily. “Didn’t see it, didn’t see it coming,” he repeated, but his voice was so raspy she could barely understand him.

“Spencer, what didn’t you see coming?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t see it,” he said again, his voice spiraling high and tight in distress.

JJ took a step back. “Hey!” she called down the hallway. “I need somebody down here.”

She had never been so grateful before to see Alex. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Everything okay?”

“No, something’s wrong with Spencer,” she said. “He’s…he’s talking but he’s not making any sense. And his voice sounds awful, I can barely hear him.”

Alex sat down next to Spencer and touched his forehead. “He’s burning up,” she said. She searched his face, then tipped his chin back to eye his neck critically. “His lymph nodes are swollen. It’s definitely not allergies.”

“What do you think it is?” JJ asked.

Spencer leaned his cheek against Alex’s hand and mumbled something indistinct. “I know, I know,” she soothed. She tilted his jaw, tricking him into opening his mouth. “His tonsils are swollen and he’s got red spots down his throat. I think it’s strep.”

“So we should definitely take him to urgent care,” JJ said.

Alex nodded. “Absolutely,” she said. “Go tell Hotch.” JJ hesitated. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken care of a sick kid before.”

JJ frowned. She didn’t think Alex had any kids. But if she had a kid, surely she would have mentioned him or her by now, at least in passing.

But right now there were more important things to worry about, and besides, anyone who cared about Spence was fine with her. She’d just ask Alex about it later.


	9. drunk Spencer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by anonymous: "what do you think drunk Reid would be like lol?"

“I’m so glad you finally came out with us, Reid,” Garcia said. “We’ve been asking you for ages.” ****

“Yeah, it’s about time you joined us,” Morgan added.

He sat very stiffly on the cracked vinyl seat, his arms at his sides like he was afraid to put his hands down. “You’ve asked me thirty-two times,” he said. “I thought I should give up at some point.”

Garcia laughed. “You’re stubborn and I love it,” she said. “But I’m glad you gave in.”

Nights out had been few and far between for too long, and she was thrilled to be out of her lair and with her people. The last case was resolved much sooner than they expected, and she had begged everyone to come out. Gideon wasn’t there, which wasn’t too much of a surprise, but everyone else had made it. Even Hotch, who usually begged off because of Haley and the baby, and even Reid, who had politely turned down every offer to go out.

“Spence, are you doing okay?” JJ asked. “You can put your arms down.”

“Everything is sticky,” he said, his shoulders curving. 

Morgan laughed. “You’ll be fine, Reid,” he said. “Don’t give me statistics on germs. Just enjoy yourself. Get a drink. Relax.”

“This isn’t exactly my idea of relaxing,” he said. 

“C’mon, live a little, boy wonder,” Garcia said. “What do you want? First drink is on me.”

He hunched farther in his chair. “You know, most medieval cultures drank only beer and mead instead of water because the quality-”

“Reid,” Hotch interrupted. “Just order something.”

His ears were turning red and he mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” Emily asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never tried anything.”

“You were in college for like ten years, you’ve never had alcohol?” JJ said, her eyebrows raising.

“Fifteen-year-olds don’t get invited to a lot of frat parties!” Spencer said. “And I went straight from college to the academy, and straight to the BAU from the academy.” He scrunched up his face. “And besides, I don’t think there’s anything about me that indicates I get invited to parties very often.”

Garcia squeezed his arm. “Well, you’re at a party now,” she said. “How about this, we’ll let you try a little bit of everybody’s drinks, so you can figure out what you like, and then you can order something.” He opened his mouth to argue. “And we’ll let you have the first sips so you can’t complain about germs.”

“Yes, but then if everyone’s drinking after me, everyone’s getting my germs,” Spencer objected. “What if everybody gets mono?”

“Who’re you kissing, pretty Ricky?” Morgan teased, and Spencer’s embarrassed flush spread to his cheekbones. Morgan tossed his arm around his shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Relax.”

They all placed their orders- the waitress scrutinized Spencer’s ID for quite a while, making him blush even redder- and before long everyone had drinks placed in front of them, and Spencer was visibly sweating.

“All right, who’s drink do you want to try first?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked around. “I have no idea,” he said.

Morgan slid his pint glass over to him. “Try this,” he said. “It’s just a beer. Entry level. You can’t go wrong.”

Spencer took a very small sip, averting everyone’s eyes, and quickly handed the glass back to Morgan. “That’s bread,” he said. “That is a glass of wet bread.”

“So not a beer fan?” Garcia asked. He shook his head.

“Oh, you’re going to hate what I have, then,” Hotch said, sliding his Guinness down the table.

Spencer stuck a straw in it and recoiled. “Oh, that’s worse,” he said. “Oh, that’s so much worse. How is it so much worse?”

Hotch laughed. “So we can determine that beer is a no go,” he said.

“MIne won’t be as bad,” JJ said. “It’s just a hard cider, nothing too crazy.”

He wrinkled his nose. “It tastes like apple juice was left sitting around for too long,” he complained.

JJ looked at the glass, then back at him. “That’s…that’s basically what hard cider is, Spence,” she said.

“I knew that. it’s…it’s just very different in application.”

“Ooh me, ooh me!” Emily said. “This is fun.” She leaned around JJ to hand him a wineglass. “Try it.”

Spencer took it hesitantly. “Wine isn’t that bad, is it?” he said warily.

Emily rested her chin on her hands. “I don’t know, you tell me,” she said.

He took a sip. “That’s disgusting,” he said. He screwed up his face, sticking out his tongue a little. “How is it so dry? It’s like I was walking in a desert and someone gave me an old grape instead of water!”

Emily laughed. “That’s how I like it,” she said. She got up from the table. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to get a surprise.”

“Okay, okay, try mine,” Garcia encouraged. “It’s a Moscow mule. I think you’ll like it.”

“Garcia, the odds are against me,” he said, taking the copper mug warily.

“Please please please,” she wheedled. “It’s delicious.”

He took a sip, paused, and took another one. “Oh, this isn’t terrible,” he said. “It’s very…but it has this kind of…”

“It’s a win!” Garcia said, slamming her fist on the table. “Garcia, one, everybody else, zero!”

“Okay, okay, fine, but…consider this,” Emily said. She set a shot glass down in front of Spencer. “Shots are a rite of passage for all college students, so…here you go!”

“Shots, shots, shots!” JJ chanted.

Spencer picked up the glass, looked around at them in confusion, and then took a small sip. “Reid, what the actual hell?” Emily said.

“What’re you doing, kid?” Morgan asked.

He shrugged, holding the tiny glass in his hands like a mouse holding a thimble. “I’m drinking out of this ridiculously small cup that Emily gave me,” he said.

Hotch sighed. “Reid, that’s not how shots work,” he said.

Emily took the glass from Spencer’s hand. “Hey,” he protested, but she knocked it back in an easy motion.

“Learned that in boarding school,” she said, setting the shotglass down. “Let’s try this again!”

Spencer held the new glass like a bomb when it was handed it to him. “What am I supposed to do?” he said.

“Just throw the whole drink in your mouth and swallow,” JJ said. “Don’t think about it.”

“All I do is think,” he said, but he did his best, tossing the shot in his mouth. “Oh god! What…oh god, it’s burning!”

“That’s what Fireball does,” Garcia said. “Try it again, it gets easier.”

It did not get easier.

In the end, it took three shots, half of Garcia’s Moscow Mule, and the collective tastes of everyone’s drinks to get Dr. Spencer Reid half slumped in his chair, his long arms draped over the sticky table. “…and that’s when I dropped out of, out of medieval lit, because…because it sucked, you guys,” he slurred. “It sucked, so bad, I…I learned more when I was two than I did…in…in…” He raised his head, his long hair hanging over his eyes. “What?”

“Ooh, we forgot to factor in the newbie tolerance levels,” Emily said.

“What tolerance level?” Hotch said dryly.

Spencer rubbed his eyes. “I’m…so tired,” he said. He lurched towards Morgan. “Can I…take a nap?”

“No, pretty boy, not here,” Morgan said. “God, what a lightweight.”

“Honestly, we should have seen this coming,” Hotch said. 

Spencer half stood up. “I want another one of these,” he announced, holding the empty copper mug in his hand.

“No, no, my darling, absolutely not,” Garcia said, tugging on his arm.

He plunked down in his seat. “I feel great,” he said. He smiled, warm and dopey. “I…I love you guys. All you guys.”

“Aw, we love you too, Garcia said.

He frowned, tugging at his tie. “I’m…why this?” he said. He fumbled with the knot. “Why this? I wanna-”

“Oh, no, he’s a Penelope Garcia kind of drunk,” Emily said. 

“I don’t always take my clothes off when I’m drunk,” Garcia said. “I just…oh, no, Spencer-”

He tossed his tie at Emily. “I got it,” he said, pleased.

“Good job.”

He lurched out of his seat. “I’ll be right back,” he said. 

“Should somebody follow him?” JJ asked.

Hotch looked at his phone. “If he doesn’t come back in a few minutes, I’ll go get him,” he said. 

“Man, I didn’t know what kind of drunk Reid would be, but somehow this seems right,” Emily said, draining the last of her second glass of wine. “He has the tolerance of a wet piece of paper.”

“Maybe next time we’ll just get him something that isn’t too strong,” Garcia said. “This might have been too much for him.”

“We’ll get him a Capri Sun or something,” Morgan snickered.

Spencer stumbled towards them, his mouth tugging at the corner. “Hey, champ, how we doin’?” Emily said. 

“I threw up,” he said, confused.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked. 

He shrugged. “I threw up.”

“Okay, pretty boy, you’re going home,” Morgan said, scooting his chair back from the table. “Baby’s first drinks are turning into baby’s first hangover.”

“Get something greasy for breakfast in the morning, it’ll help,” Garcia offered. 

Spencer rubbed the side of his face. “I’m…sleep,” he mumbled

“You’re going to drink your bodyweight in water and maybe eat some saltines, and then you’re gonna go to sleep,” Morgan said. “And next time we go out for drinks…no shots for you.”


	10. he was fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 day #1
> 
> Let's Hang Out Some Time
> 
> prompted by anonymous
> 
> Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

He pulled weakly at the ropes tying his wrists in place. It did no good, and he probably needed to save his strength, but he tried anyway. His head ached, and he could feel blood running down his cheek and soaking into the blindfold, and there was a stabbing pain deep in his side. And he couldn’t think straight. He wasn’t sure where he was, or how he got here, or what might happen to him. 

His thoughts were so tangled. He needed someone to find him, to straighten everything out. To fix it. He needed somebody to fix this because he couldn’t fix it himself.

He remembered the case- the meeting in the conference room, JJ talking through the details, the long flight. 

He remembered the police station, the familiar smells of ink and stale coffee, the clatter of shoes on tiled floors, the feel of the paper map underneath his fingertips.

He remembered sitting in the backseat of the SUV, the seatbelt pressing over his chest, Hotch bickering with Morgan as he drove, Elle leaning forward from the backseat, her thigh warm against his.

He couldn’t remember anything else. 

His thoughts and his memories jumbled together, shattering into shards and scraps. 

He remembered sitting in a lecture hall, the air conditioning vent above his head raising goosebumps on his arms, his mind buzzing and whirring as he soaked up all the information he could from the speaker at the front.

He was fifteen, all arms and legs from a late bloomer growth spurt, clumsy and ungainly. The speaker chatted with him after the lecture, and miracle of miracles, took him out for a coffee afterwards to talk. And he talked, because he was good at talking, information spilling out of him so fast he couldn’t stop it. The man let him talk, listening intently, his dark intense gaze never wavering, asking the right questions when he took a moment to gulp down a breath. And at the end of the conversation, coffee cups empty and the dregs ice cold, he took a business card out of his wallet, scribbled something down in scratchy blue ballpoint pen, and handed it over.

 _I’d like to stay in touch,_ Jason Gideon had said. _I’m interested in seeing where you go in life, Spencer Reid._

He was sixteen and receiving his first doctorate. No one came to see him graduate, but that didn’t stop him from standing in the grassy courtyard, scanning the crowds, the happy students basking in the praise from their proud families, trying to maintain a smile and the little bubble of joy in his chest that threatened to pop. He returned to his quiet little dorm room, listening to the freshman who were older than him pack up their belongings to go home for the summer. His saving grace was a scribbled letter, still in the same scratchy blue ink, and he sat on his bed reading Gideon’s feedback on his thesis, forcing himself to read slowly so he could savor it.

He was seventeen, and he was teaching classes to students old enough to be his parents. Teaching made him happy, but it still wasn’t enough, there was an empty space left behind and he wasn’t sure what might fill it. At one point he gathered up enough courage to send a recording of one of his lectures to Gideon, and for the first time in his life he checked his email daily until he got a reply a week and a half later- a terse _excellent work_ without a signature- and the praise carried him for a month.

He was eighteen, and he called them to take his mother away from her house and away from him, and when the car drove away he sank down on the filthy living room carpet and sobbed his heart out like the broken-hearted child that he was. He cried himself to sleep and woke up sick to his stomach, his head aching, his eyes burning. But he couldn’t cry forever, and he dried his tears and cleaned the garbage out of his shabby little childhood home, sifting through the wreckage for any memories that he’d once been happy there. When the house was scrubbed clean, left empty like a shell on a storm-torn beach, the air smelling like bleach and fresh paint, he called the number on the tattered business card he’d been holding onto for three years. He wasn’t expecting him to answer, so he left a voicemail, and he waited.

He was nineteen, and he was crushed when he was told he would have to wait to enter the academy. Gideon wrote him letters of recommendation, called every favor he could, even went personally to visit the powers-that-be. But even with that, they couldn’t accept a skinny teenage boy who squinted through broken glasses and couldn’t do a push up. He got one of Gideon’s rare phone calls after that, brief but full of reassurances that “they’ll let you in next year if I have to walk you in myself.”

(He couldn’t remember his own father walking him to school. In fact he had almost no memories of his father; his eidetic memory failed him and left him with just a faded blur.)

(maybe his memory didn’t fail him. maybe his memory was just trying to protect him.)

He was twenty, and he started at the academy at last. The classroom was his safe place where he could shine, but the physical qualifications loomed over him like a thundercloud. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t climb, he couldn’t fire a gun. But he didn’t bring that up with Gideon when he met with him on occasion for lunch or chess games in the park. He asked questions instead, and Gideon answered him in riddles, his voice measured, his words calculated. Sometimes the answers frustrated him, but he didn’t say anything. Gideon’s riddles were the closest he had to a father’s advice.

He was twenty-one, and he didn’t recognize Ethan at first. During their senior year Ethan was seventeen, all sun-blond hair and lopsided smiles surrounded in the glow of popularity and cigarette smoke, and he was a twelve-year-old worried about getting elbowed in the face in the hallways during passing periods, but a lot had changed since then. Ethan was twenty-six and still had that lopsided smile, but now it made his heart squeeze and his stomach flip, and the first time Ethan kissed him he nearly stopped breathing. He didn’t talk to Gideon about it, or anybody for that matter, and Ethan kept their trysts secret. They snuck around like lovelorn teenagers, and sometimes he was afraid Ethan could taste his desperation in his kisses, sweet and salted. One night he fell asleep with his head on his broad bare shoulder, his thin bare legs tangled up with his, and he woke up alone, the bed cold and the sheets still smelling like his cologne. Ethan didn’t answer any phone calls, and he didn’t return to classes, and the familiar shape of loneliness fell back around him, and he returned to his studies in full force, now that he didn’t have anything to distract him.

He was twenty-two, freshly graduated, and the warm glow of his first day at work at Quantico faded when he was immediately mistaken for a high schooler on a field trip. But he found his new empty desk that stayed empty since he had no photos or knickknacks to add to it, and Gideon introduced him to his new teammates. He had been hoping that this would be it, that this would be the place where he would fit in and find where he belonged, but he didn’t. His desk was opposite a handsome suave jock type who made his life miserable in high school, all winsome smiles and strong muscles. His unit chief always seemed to look him up and down in faint disapproval, his dark eyes serious and his mouth drawn down in a perpetual frown, as if he was holding him to some invisible standard and found wanting. And Gideon’s office door was closed more often than it was open, too intimidating to knock. He waited for invitations instead, to be asked for a case discussion or a chess game or a conversation. The invitations were few and far between.

He was twenty-three, and he was tied to a pipe by an unsub, his whole body aching, the blindfold lashed too tightly over his eyes. And he hoped Gideon was coming. He hoped he would be rescued, that he would figure out the details, that he would stride in and set everything to rights. 

He hadn’t realized that he’d sunk into unconsciousness until he felt strong gentle hands prying at the blindfold. He was cold, he was so cold, and the hands were warm against his skin.

“Hey, pretty boy, you with me?”

He struggled to open his eyes. “Morgan?” he mumbled.

Morgan’s face swam into view, hazy in the dim light. “There you are,” he said, smiling at him even though his eyes seemed tense with worry. “I got you, pretty boy. I got you.”

Spencer’s mouth felt dry as cotton, and when he tried to speak nothing came out. “Hey, hey, don’t worry about talking,” Morgan soothed. “You’re safe now, Reid. Hotch is on his way, he’s coming to get you. I’m gonna untie you now.”

He could barely lift his head, but the pressure on his wrists eased as Morgan cut the zipties holding him place. “Where’s Gideon?” he mumbled.

“Still at the station,” Morgan said. He caught Spencer as his knees buckled, bracing him against chest. “And the unsub’s already in custody, Elle’s taking care of that. How bad are you hurt, Reid?”

He couldn’t answer, he just shook his head instead. Why wasn't Gideon there? Why wasn't Gideon looking for him? Why didn't Gideon come for him?

“Hotch, over here,” Morgan called. “I got him, but he’s in bad shape.”

Hotch took him by the shoulders, searching his face. “Reid, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” he said, his vision beginning to tilt and swim again.

He didn’t realize he was about to pass out until Morgan caught him and picked him up in an easy motion. “God, you need eat more than vending machine shit,” he said. Spencer closed his eyes, his cheek brushing against the rough shoulder strap of his flak vest. “JJ’s on her way to the hospital, she’ll meet you there. We’ll come get you as soon as we’ve got this situation squared away. All right?”

Spencer nodded, his eyes sliding shut. He was twenty-three, and there was still a strange emptiness in him, but his family had found him, and for once he was safe enough to close his eyes and not be afraid of what might happen when he opened them again. 


	11. stay safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 day #3
> 
> prompted by yourlocalheartbreaker
> 
> My Way or the Highway
> 
> Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

He raised his hands slowly. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. His voice was calm, quiet, rational, but his thoughts raced wildly, trying to cobble together some kind of escape plan, trying to assemble a best case scenario, trying to calculate his odds.

His odds weren’t good. 

The unsub gripped him by the shoulder and forced him down to his knees. “Where’s your gun?” he demanded.

Hotch gritted his teeth as his knees slammed into the concrete. “Don’t have it,” he grunted. “Fell in the water.”

The rest of the team was doubtless still by the river’s edge. He shouldn’t have separated from them. It was a childish, rookie mistake- something he would have scolded Reid or Morgan for doing. And yet here he was, facing the consequences of his own impulsive actions alone. 

He could see his breath hanging in the air. The unsub was muttering to himself, pacing back and forth, hitting the butt of his revolver against his palm. They’d already profiled an unhinged killer; now he was wishing their profile had been incorrect. This wasn’t a situation he could talk down and defuse. 

The unsub whipped around, the gun shaking in his head. “I didn’t mean to kill them, you know,” he said, his voice spiraling high and tight.

“I know,” Hotch said.

It was a lie. But he needed the unsub to buy it.

For a moment the unsub lowered his arm, the muzzle pointing down towards the floor. “It just...they made me so  _ angry _ ,” he said. “They made me angry. So it was their faults, you know?”

“It was,” Hotch said. He just needed to hold out long enough for someone from the team, any of them, to figure out where he was. Just one of them would be enough. 

But would they think to look for him?

He looked up, and looked down the barrel of the revolver.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened to him, but for a split second, he wondered if it could be the last. He ran through his options, and nothing had a positive ending. The unsub’s hand shook, his finger on the trigger, the hammer already cocked.

_ Haley _ , he thought, and the shot cracked in the silence.

* * *

It wasn’t the first time that he faded into consciousness with the scent of antiseptic sharp in the air and a faint rhythmic beeping in his ears, but this time he was genuinely shocked to find himself in a hospital.

His eyes were too heavy to open, but as feeling began to spread back through his body he realized someone was holding his hand. He wasn’t sure who it was, and even though he tried to force himself to wake up faster, he couldn’t manage it.

“Aaron, Aaron, sh, it’s okay. Lie still.”

The hand in his grip was small and slender and fiercely strong, stronger than he expected. He tried to say her name, but no sound came out. 

“Stop trying to fight so much. Sh, sh, easy, sweetheart.”

“Haley,” he mumbled.

She squeezed his hand. “Yeah, it’s me,” she whispered. He tried to squeeze back; her brand new wedding ring was cool against his skin. “Don’t push yourself. Take your time.”

He tried to obey her. Haley held his hand in both of hers, her thumbs smoothing over his hands, bumping against his wedding band. Slowly his vision began to fade into focus, and he opened his eyes to the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room and his wife’s bright blue eyes.

Her eyes were red, but she smiled at him, moving to brush his hair back from his forehead. “There you are,” she said softly. 

“How long…” he tried to say.

“The whole time, pretty much,” she said. “Morgan called me when you were still in the ambulance, got me on a flight in less than an hour. I got here before you were even out of surgery.”

He exhaled slowly. “I was stupid,” he mumbled.

Haley half laughed. “Yeah, you were, buddy,” she said, her voice catching in a little half sob. “Gideon got to you just in time. You’re lucky he startled the guy and he misfired.”

He was so tired. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I know,” she said. She tangled her fingers in his thick hair. “You can’t do this to me, Aaron Hotchner. You can’t marry me and get yourself killed two weeks after our wedding. We haven’t even gone on our honeymoon yet.”

“I didn’t get killed, I just got shot,” he said. He could feel the bandages on his shoulder pulling at his skin; once the painkillers wore off he was definitely going to be in for a world of hurt. But it hurt worse to see his bride’s eyes welling up with tears. “Haley, I...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She swiped at her eyes. “Don’t say sorry, just stay safe,” she said. He nodded, and with herculean effort, raised his arm and beckoned her closer.

Haley climbed up onto the hospital bed and carefully laid down beside him, resting her cheek against his good shoulder and tucking her arm around his waist. He twisted around so he could kiss the top of her head and she sighed softly. 

“I’ll stay safe for you,” he whispered, and she nodded, cuddling closer to his side. 


	12. mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 day #4
> 
> prompted by anonymous
> 
> "hey, i hope its not too late to request something for whumptober! could you do number four (running out of time) in canon au where blake gets trapped in a collapsed building during a case and reid talks to her through the ear pieces while the rescue team works on getting her out? maybe he calls her "mom" when shes safe and they have a big ol hug?"
> 
> Running Out of Time
> 
> Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

Alex closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Panicking would do her absolutely no good.

There was no way out of the stairwell. The building had collapsed when the bomb went off, and she’d found herself separated from the rest of the team, surrounded in a cloud of drywall dust and acrid smoke. She was left in a pocket of space barred by fallen support beams and crumbling walls, and no matter how she analyzed her surroundings, how she planned potential escape routes, there was nowhere safe to go.

She sat down on the floor, her arms resting on her bent knees, trying to keep her breathing slow and calm. Smoke singed her lungs and dried out her throat and stung at her eyes. She had time. But not a lot of it.

Her earpiece crackled to life, shrill and piercing enough to make her jump. “-accounted for, except Reid and Blake,” she heard Hotch say.

A sharp pang shot through her heart. The last time she’d seen Reid he was running up the stairs, taking them two at a time, disappearing rapidly into the darkness. At the time she hadn’t thought anything of it, but if he was missing-

“Hotch, I’m fifty-one to the meeting point, I got caught coming down the north stairs,” Reid said. He sounded winded, as if he’d been trying to outrun the collapse and barely made it. “I’m outside, I’m outside.”

“Good,” Hotch said. “Anyone know Blake’s twenty?”

She tried to take a deep breath as she clicked on her radio. “I’m at the south stairwell,” she said. “First floor, but I’m blocked in.”

There was a long pause. She could picture Hotch taking it in, staring straight ahead for a moment with that deep-etched frown as he formulated his thoughts, turning to the team to give instructions in his terse voice.

“Are you safe?” he asked at last. “Are you injured?”

“I’m not hurt,” she said. “A lot of dust and smoke, but no visible flames.”

“And you’re sure there’s no exit route?”

She looked around one more time, one last chance for confirmation, even though she already knew the answer. “I’m sure,” she said. “Nothing I can get through on my own.”

Another pause. “And you’re sure, the south stairwell?”

“Ten-four,” she said. Her voice cracked; the air was hot and dry and dust coated her throat. 

“Hang tight. We’re working to get you out.”

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. All she could do was wait- something she didn’t necessarily like, but she’d learned patience. She could wait.

She opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. The soot and ash and dust filtered through the air, clogging her lungs and burning her eyes, making them water. She ran the heel of her palm along her cheekbone, wiping it away.

Her earpiece crackled again. “Blake?” Spencer said. “Hey, are you, um...are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, Reid, I’m okay,” she said. “I’m not injured, other than some bruises, I think. Is everyone else all right?”

“Uh-huh, the rest of the team was out of the building when the bomb went off,” he said. She could hear faint voices in the background- Hotch’s steady rumble, JJ’s sweeter pitches, Emily’s rapid patter. “Do you- do you have enough air?”

She glanced around. “I’m in a good place, all things considered,” she said. “It’s not very well ventilated, but I’m not too concerned about running out of oxygen at the moment.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Spencer said. “And it’s good you know your location, it’ll be easier to find you. You know, there was an incident where a woman was found in the rubble of a collapsed building after seventeen days, they used audio detection to location her exact position. And in 2005, there were three schoolchildren trapped for five days-”

A corner of her mouth tugged up in a ghost of a smile as Spencer rambled, his voice pitching up as his words spilled out faster and faster. She could picture him now, pacing back and forth, his hazel eyes bright and intense with focus. Usually someone would stop him- a gentle hand on his arm or his shoulder, a pointed look with raised eyebrows, his name spoken softly. But she liked to hear him talk, and it was reassuring to hear him, and she knew it reassured him to speak.

His topics bounced and traveled and she listened. She could still hear the conversation in the background, catching the increasingly worried tones, and as they seemed to worry more, Spencer talked faster, as if he was trying to outpace them and distract himself as much as he was trying to distract her.

Alex raised her head at a sudden crash to her right. There were voices on the other side of the wall, and sounds of machinery. She pushed herself up to her feet and her knees ached- she might’ve hit the ground harder than she thought after the initial blast.

Her earpiece beeped, warning her of the impending battery death. “Reid?” she said, but he kept talking.

One of the toppled support beams shifted and she took a step back. “Reid,” she said again, a little more sharply.

“Blake? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“My battery's going ten-seven,” she said. “But I think they made it to me-”

“Blake, you’re breaking up, are you okay?”

“I can hear them on the other side of the wall,” she said.

“Blake?”

The damn earpiece kept beeping and she coughed at the sudden surge of debris and dust. “I’ll be out soon,” she said, raising her voice and hoping he could hear her

“Alex?” he said, shrill and panicked. “Alex, what’s happening? I can’t-”

Her earpiece died and she swore under her breath. But she squared her shoulders, and she waited. 

It took time and energy and painstakingly careful steps to make her way out, but she broke free from the rubble of the building and took a deep breath of night air. It was clean and cool and smelled like woodsmoke and pine, and she brushed at the drywall dust clinging to her clothes and her hair.

“Alex!”

She looked up to see Spencer running towards her. “I’m so sorry, my earpiece died-” she started to say.

He flung his arms around her. “I was so worried,” he said. “God, I thought something had happened to you, Mom.”

She stopped breathing for a split second. It was just a little slip, she knew it, but oh, how it made her heart skip beats.

Alex hugged him closer, one hand pressed to the back of his head as he buried his face in her shoulder, his arms tight around her waist like a child. “It’s okay, Spencer, I’m safe,” she murmured, and she hugged him a little tighter. 

She kissed him lightly on the cheek, her hand still tangled in his hair, and after a moment he pulled back, smiling at her. “Your earpiece probably got damaged by the amount of debris in the air,” he said. “Actually, this specific-”

“Spencer,” she interrupted. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked in genuine confusion; she touched his temple lightly. “Have you gotten checked out?”

“No, not yet,” he stammered. “But I-”

“Come on, you’re sticking with me,” she said, taking him by the hand. “I’m sure our bossy unit chief won’t rest until he’s satisfied that we’ve been looked at.”

He didn’t argue, he just stayed close to her side, matching his long strides to her shorter ones, and when she touched his arm lightly he seemed to smile, as if just knowing that she was there eased some of the tension from his shoulders. 


	13. post rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 day #5
> 
> prompted by anonymous
> 
> "Where Do You Think You're Going?"
> 
> On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

“I’m fine!” Emily insisted, waving off the EMT hovering around her. “Go check on somebody else, I’m sure someone else needs you.”

“You’re not fine,” Hotch said, his arms crossed and his mouth drawn down in a frown. “Sit down and let them check you out.”

Emily bit back a sigh. He was probably right- they had barely rescued her from the compound in time before the bomb detonated, and Cyrus and his lackey had managed to get in some good hits on her- but she  _ really  _ didn’t feel like getting poked and prodded. And she really didn’t want Hotchner to feel like he’d gained the upper hand.

“When can we leave?” she asked, wincing as the EMT dabbed at her split lip.

Hotch glanced back at the wreckage of the cult’s compound, the flames still burning as firefighters and police continued to swarm. “Rossi’s leading the wrapup here,” he said. “As long as you don’t need to go to the hospital, we’ll get back to the hotel and be on the jet first thing in the morning.”

She closed her eyes. “Thank god,” she said. “And I won’t need to go to the hospital, trust me. I’m just kind of banged up, no major damage.” She glanced over at Spencer standing a little distance away, his arms crossed tight over his chest. “Does he look okay to you?”

“He never looks okay,” Hotch said. He sighed heavily. “Reid? You doing all right?”

Spencer didn’t look up. His cardigan was half pulled off one shoulder and his cheek was smeared with soot. He stared at the smoldering remains of the compound, his eyes glazed over and his usually expressive face blank.

Emily frowned. “Reid?” she called.

He turned around. “Hm?” he said, blinking as if she’d just woken him up.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said, but he recoiled as his voice came out as a faint rasp, his hand pressing to his throat. “Fine. I’m fine.”

He struggled to speak, forcing the sound out louder and louder. “Don’t do that, you inhaled a lot of smoke,” Hotch said, crossing over to him and taking him by the shoulder. Spencer winced. “Hey, can we get a medic over here?”

Spencer shook his head. “I don’t need anything, take care of Emily,” he said, even though his voice was barely audible. “I’m-” He broke into a cough. “I’m fine-”

“No, you’re not,” Emily said. He kept coughing, rough and barking, and she nudged the EMT trying to bandage her up as she slid down from the bumper of the ambulance. “You were right in the middle of the blast, you might have-”

He doubled over, gasping for breath as he clutched his side. Hotch got to him first, supporting his weight as his knees buckled. “Come on, Spencer, slow down, take a breath,” he said. “God, how much smoke did you breathe in?”

Spencer tried to speak, his face paper white and his lips fading to a bluish gray as he kept coughing. Hotch eased him down to the brittle grass as the EMT leaned over him with an oxygen mask. 

But he was still pressing his palm against his side, as if he was trying to hold his ribs in place. Emily knelt down beside him. “Reid, did something else happen?” she asked.

He tried to wheeze out an answer, but he had no voice left. Emily pried his hand gently from his side, moving his shirt and sweater out of the way. She hissed through her teeth at the sight of purplish red bruising rising rapidly on his skin. “Holy shit,” she said. “What’d they do to you, kid?”

Spencer closed his eyes, his breath fogging up the clear plastic of the oxygen mask. His cough had started to subside, but his chest was still heaving as if he was running a race and losing. “Cyrus,” he rasped. “Suckerpunched me...butt of his rifle.”

“I think you’ve got a couple of broken ribs,” Hotch said, eyeing him critically. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Spencer’s face was still pale, but his lips were fading back to pink. “Had to make Emily was okay,” he said.

“They just knocked me around a little bit, but nothing’s broken,” she said. “You could have said something.”

Hotch shot her a sharp look. “You’re still bleeding, Prentiss,” he said.

“You’re not helping, Hotchner,” she retorted. She made herself more comfortable in the grass, tucking her legs underneath her, and took Spencer’s hand in both of hers. He gripped back tighter than she would have expected, his long slender fingers linking through hers. The EMT probed lightly at his side and he winced, squeezing her hand too tightly. 

She did her best to keep her expression neutral. At this point she knew him well enough to recognize that he was blaming himself for everything- the death of the local agent, her injuries, the detonation. She didn’t need him to keep drawing back from her.

“Can you stay with him?” Hotch asked quietly. “I need to check in with Rossi.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t worry about us.”

Hotch got up, touching her shoulder lightly as he walked away. Emily ran her palm over the back of Spencer’s hand. His skin was ice cold, even though the night air was balmy and warm, and his knuckles were scraped. She stayed with him in silence as the EMT checked him over and placed an ice pack on his side.

She would talk to him later. Someone needed to talk to him, even if he didn’t listen. He needed to know that he didn’t do anything wrong, that no one blamed him for anything. Least of all her.

But now wasn’t really the time, not while he was struggling to breathe and she could still taste blood in her mouth. So she sat with him in silence instead, his hand held tight in both of hers, the scent of smoke heavy and bitter around them. 

**No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? (canon, anonymous, platonic Emily and Spencer, Minimal Loss)**

On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting to post my tumblr drabbles over here in preparation for Whumptober! I do still take prompts, it's just a little bit of a slow going since Spencer Blake and the boarding school babes take up so much of my time. I'm themetaphorgirl, so come visit me (and let me know if you're doing Whumptober too!)


End file.
